


A Pink Dress

by Adlocked



Series: Check Yes Or No [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/F, F/M, I used the names of Benedict's parents as Sherlock's parents, Like, M/M, Married Life, Teenlock!, There are a lot of ships, Well - Freeform, Yas, actually a couple, but i like it and it's cute, it's a lot, kidlock!, or very brief, seriously, some are one sided, some ships are small mentioned, there's a gonna be a lot of references, there's a reference to the downey films later in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:46:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adlocked/pseuds/Adlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OK, so I was listening to this song called 'Check Yes or No' by George Strait and I just imagined Irene and Sherlock for some reason and this blossomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Case of the Pink Dress

Sherlock Holmes climbed aboard the yellow school bus, nose in one of the books he swiped from Mycroft's room earlier that morning as he made his way to his seat in the middle of the bus. The idiot of a bus driver had it set in his mind that it would a good idea to group everyone on the bus by their grade and then assign them seats. Sherlock was, luckily, seated next to a rather mousy girl with pale red hair named Molly Hooper that also sat near him in his class. She didn't talk much and kept to herself, always taking the window seat which was fine with Sherlock because he preferred being able to make a quick get-away if he had to and the aisle seat allowed him to do just that.

But Molly Hooper wasn't there today which meant that he would be alone and the thought made him both relieved and nauseous. He wouldn't be forced to greet Molly and deal with the little glances she shot his way when she thought he wasn't looking but she was his protection from the other idiots on the bus. No one would pick on him with Molly there, the bus driver didn't let the other boys pick on girls or he'd write them up and they'd have to have their parents drive them to school for a week which usually any parent hated. Without Molly though, he was fair game.

So, he took his seat rather reluctantly and kept on reading the book about Caesar Codes with the idea in mind that if he kept quiet and to himself, the others wouldn't bother him. For the first time since he had ever been on the bus, Sherlock Holmes even pressed himself against the rattling metal of the bus as he took the window seat to hide himself even more from the bigger boys in his classes.

It seemed to work until he felt the pleather bench beneath him shift a little under the weight of another body. Panic rose in his throat, blood rushing to his mind as he tried to think of an escape plan to get out of the situation until a small hand appeared on the pages of his, er, Mycroft's book and he noted that it was rather delicate and the nails were painted a vibrant shade of red. A girl. A girl was sitting next to him.

Relief washed over him and his shoulders slumped a little as he turned to look at who had moved from their seat to come sit by him under threat of being written up. His mind froze when he saw the brown curls pulled into a tight ponytail wrapped with a pink ribbon. Bright icy eyes were looking back at his and the girl was smiling, actually smiling at him. His brain stopped working, rendering him incapable of thought as soon as he placed the name with the face.

Irene Adler, the teacher's pet who could get away with anything and always wore everything in the same colour. Today, it seemed was pink. Pink Mary-Janes, pink ankles socks with a lace trim, a pink fluffy dress with ruffles and lace and all sorts of trimmings and other additions. And she was still smiling at him. Smiling with her two front teeth missing and no new ones growing in yet.

_Hi. I'm Sherlock Holmes._

"Hi, I'm Irene Adler." She offered him her hand for him to shake and cocked her head, causing the ponytail to swing back and forth. When he didn't offer his hand in return, or say anything back, she blinked and frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Well, aren't you going to say anything back? Or are you sick?"

"Huh? Oh! Uh, I'm Sherlock Holmes." He grabbed her hand, gripping hard, and pumped it up and down.

Irene giggled and pulled her hand back when he stopped. "Sorry for sitting here, but I noticed the girl who usually sits here is gone and if I have to sit another day with Anderson, I swear, I am going to knock his nose in. He's so rude and keeps tugging on my ponytail. And I don't mean the way I'm okay with some people doing it, like when they want to see a curl spring back, I mean he does it hard, all of my hair wrapped up in his meaty fist and he just yanks."

Sherlock just nodded as she spoke, focusing more on her voice than her story. It was rather interesting, that she spoke with a lower tone when most girls in their grade had higher pitches. He'd have to research it. But he did definitely agree with her about Phillip Anderson. The boy was rude and deserved to be hit by someone. "I'll do it for you, if you'd like. I know how to punch people so that I don't get hurt and they do."

"Well, I'm quite flattered that you'd do such a thing for me but if you did, you'd get in trouble. If I punch him, well, I can lie my way out of it far better than you can." He felt insulted, that Irene would think that he couldn't lie his way out of situations. He had done it several times and could do it several times again if it suited him. "Oh, poor dear... I don't mean to insult you... But teacher likes me best. Besides... I'd hate for you to get in trouble because of little of old me..." She fluttered her lashes and Sherlock thought his heart might have skipped a few beats.

_~~You're worth it.~~ _

"Strike him with the palm of your hand, and thrust upwards." He reached out and took her little hand in hers. It didn't escape his mind that she had delicate, thin fingers that were longer than most girls her age and he noted that it was another anomaly about her. His own hands were another half her size and he was worried that he was so sweaty that she'd be repulsed and pulled away. But she didn't and he put the back of her hand on his palm before gently pressing the tips of her fingers to her first knuckle and bending her thumb down so that only the palm of her hand was exposed.

"Now will you care to explain why I look like I'm impersonating a monkey, my dear Mr. Holmes?"

"You won't bruise your knuckles from where you strike the bone and you have a higher chance of causing him pain and/or breaking his nose if that is what you desire." He did his best to hide his confusion. Here she was, a girl of seven and she addressed him as Mr. Holmes, like she was talking to an adult or a teacher, when just moments ago she had been calling him Sherlock, his real name, and he liked her saying it.

"Oh trust me, if he yanks my hair again, I'm going to break his nose and swing for his jaw." Irene promised and there was such conviction in her words that he truly believed her words and for a moment, he was worried for Anderson before he remembered that Phillip Anderson was annoying twit who definitely deserved to be slugged in the face. And if it was by a girl, well, that would be even better.

"OK." Was the only response that Sherlock could think of as he stared at him, memorizing her face. She appeared to have a larger forehead but that was only because of how tight her ponytail was and he knew that if her brown curls were let wild and free, she'd have a rather aesthetically pleasing one. Her nose was perfectly symmetrical, an obvious flaw as no nose would be so perfect and it was, as some facial structure books called, a ski-jump nose, with a little upturn on the end. She had rather thin lips, Sherlock noted, that were similar to his own when she wasn't smiling. But she was almost always smiling and for some reason, he found that somewhat disheartening.

He liked having something in common with Irene Adler, even if it was just a facial feature and a mild comparison at that.

At last he allowed herself to look at her eyes, really look at them. Even when she was smiling, they were big and sparkling. It was like she knew every little secret of every student and teacher at their school and would only tell if you had the right price to pay her. They were almost like Mycroft's eyes, who held the similar 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' gleam but Irene's was playful, not cynical and somewhat malicious like his older brother's.

Though he quickly tossed that thought away. He didn't want anything connecting Irene to Mycroft. Irene was sweet and nice to him whereas Mycroft never wanted anything to do with Sherlock unless he was scolding him for doing something wrong.

"Sherlock?" Irene's low-voice made him stop staring at her and he blinked rather rapidly, trying to recall what Irene had been talking about while he was analyzing her. He could recall nothing. "We're here." She murmured softly as she rest her hand on her knee and slowly cocked her head towards the window.

"Oh." Sherlock turned to look at the window and saw the dreary grey school before him, shoulders slumping a little before he turned around to face Irene. "I'll see you later I guess?"

The girl in front of him, in the poofy pink dress and ribbon and bows, said nothing, only smiled brightly before she leaned over and pecked his lips before heading up to her original seat and grabbing her schoolbag. Irene turned to Sherlock, who was still in shock and staring at her with wide, wide eyes. "Don't tell, OK?" She brought her index finger to her lips and winked at him before jauntily walking off the bus and disappearing among the other children.

It took exactly 17.48 second for Sherlock to restart his brain and grab his bag, trying to understand what had just happened. Why the girl had just kissed him and why he did nothing or said nothing afterwards. But he would keep her secret. She wouldn't be teased like him, wouldn't be ostracized for kissing the school freak.

Not her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links for the outfits:  
> http://jaksflowergirldresses.com/rk1023_HOTPINK.jpg (Irene's dress)
> 
> http://www.shrimpandgritskids.com/common/images/products/large/Hot%20Pink%20Mary%20Janes.jpg (Irene's shoes)
> 
> http://www.rufflebutts.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/1080x1320/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/s/o/sokfuxx-0000_flat_front.jpg (Irene's socks)
> 
> http://media.kohlsimg.com/is/image/kohls/1110265_Oxford_Blue?wid=800&hei=800&op_sharpen=1 (Sherlock's shirt)
> 
> http://www.oldnavy.com/products/res/thumbimg/boys-plain-front-straight-uniform-khakis-rolled-oats.jpg (Sherlock's pants)
> 
> http://i00.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v1/1519723694_1/kids-leather-font-b-shoes-b-font-formal-occasion-match-formal-suits-font-b-boys-b.jpg (Sherlock's shoes)


	2. The Sign of Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene's still on Sherlock's mind, still confusing him. And he's oh, so, very confused. (Apologies for it being rather short this time.)

He walked into class thirty seconds before the bell rang and settled into his desk a row back from the front, pulling out his Maths book and homework. It was completed ten days ago and a bit crumpled but for the most part, it wasn't too bad and his writing was certainly more legible than the others in his class. So he put it on the side of his desk and opened up his Maths book before sliding Mycroft's book inside so it would appear to the teacher and most other students that he was reading Maths problems like he was supposed to instead of reading a book on codes.

For the most part, school went OK for the day except for when James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran dumped sand on his head at recess and he had to spend his lunch hour in the nurse's office, getting his scalp rubbed raw and going back to class with water trickling down the back of his neck. Irene had been good enough though, to pass him a handkerchief rather discreetly so that he could wipe the water trails off his skin before it got too far down him.

When school was finally over, Sherlock was the first one out the door, Mycroft's book in his hand as he raced to the front door where his mother was to pick him up most days. Luckily, today was one of those days and he yanked open the door to the backseat, threw in his bag before following suit and pulling his seatbelt on.  
"We have to get home before Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted at his mother who he saw raising an eyebrow at his sudden outburst. He held up the book he had sneaked out of his brother's room and Mrs. Holmes nodded, driving off to their flat.

They arrived home, before Mycroft to Sherlock's joy, and he ran up the stairs to Mycroft's room. The lock was easy to pick and he quickly placed the book back in it's exact position before spreading out some of the dust to make it look like it hadn't been moved at all. When Sherlock decided it was acceptable and would pass Mycroft's scrutiny, he left his brother's room and locked the door before heading to his own room and lying on his bed.

Irene Adler was still on his mind ever since the bus ride and he couldn't figure out why. Especially since all he could remember perfectly was her eyes. The unique blue that was quite rare among humans and was almost crystal like. It was bright and strong and vibrant like someone had painted them on her face. And if one looked close enough, focused as Sherlock did, they'd notice the golden flecks that were near the center of her eyes and spread outwards without a pattern. Perhaps that was why.

Almost everything else about Irene was symmetrical, defied the rules of human form, but her eyes. They were almost common in their lack of sameness with the nonsensical smattering of gold and streaks of a slightly sapphire blue that stemmed from the pupil.

He didn't have OCD, he knew that, but he liked things in order, liked when things made sense to him. The girl all in pink, well, she made absolutely none.


	3. The Thoughts of Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes walked onto the bus without a book for once, instead a magnifying glass in the side pocket of his schoolbag that he was planning to use to inspect the material and details of the bus seats. Once again, Molly Hooper was not sitting there and so he took the seat by the window, deciding that there would be plenty more interesting things for him to study in the creases of the window than there would be on the seats.

  
It wasn't long after he took his magnifying glass that a finger appeared under the magnifying glass with the nail painted a very familiar shade of red. He put his magnifying glass back in his bag before turning to look at Irene, hoping he was hiding the excitement that he could look at her more closely again. Try to figure out the puzzle that was her.

  
"How'd you guess?" She grinned at him, an eyebrow raised and he noted it was different from the way his mother raised hers. Mrs. Holmes raised hers with a sort of tiredness that showed just how often and exhausted she was with someone; usually Sherlock or Mycroft. But Irene, Irene had her eyebrow arched up higher than Mrs. Holmes would,and with the way she smiled, the way she grinned, it was as though she really was curious.

  
"Your nail polish." It wasn't as exciting as she was hoping for, he guessed, but it was the truth. "You always wear that shade and never managed to mess it up. Besides, no other girl wears red on her nails. They usually wear pink. But you don't. Not even when you're all in pink like yesterday."

  
This was usually the time people tuned him out, turned to talk to someone else or just ignored him. Sometimes people would say things like 'freak' or 'nutter' and he prepared himself for that, prepared himself for Irene to turn and go back to her seat or go to someone else and he would once more be left wondering about her; completely baffled with her.

  
"It's the only polish I own actually." Irene said after pausing for a few seconds. '5.78' Sherlock noted. "My mother said I could pick one colour and to make a good choice because that would the one I'd be wearing all year long. And well, I chose red." She gave a shrug, grinning wider and Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little bit back. Another thing he'd have to research. Why did people smile after someone else smile?

  
"So, do you know what's wrong with Molly Hooper?" Irene continued, narrowing her eyes a little and suddenly Sherlock could imagine her as a predator and he shivered. She was a little dangerous. He liked it.

  
"I assume she's sick, but I don't know." Sherlock admitted, not liking when he didn't know something. Really not liking it.

  
"Oh, she's not sick. Her dad left her mum and they can't afford their flat anymore. They had to move in with Molly's mom's grandparents and that's all the way in Wales." Irene whispered under her breath before raising her finger to her lips and making a 'shh' sound. "Our little secret though, OK?"

  
With that, she hopped up and went back to join Phillip Anderson, leaving Sherlock dumbfounded as to how she found so information out and why she shared it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little pattern here for you, yas. I'm taking the titles of all the Sherlock Holmes books and renaming them to how I see fit. Mwahahahahaha. And sorry, cause, again, this is shorter than my first chapter and I'm hoping that the next bit will be a bit longer.
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/d9/0d/5a/d90d5aafcb743789ef1eed2b66000f33.jpg (Irene's nail polish colour)


	4. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.. This has taken a turn and wouldn't you know it, Irene's causing mischief! Who'd have guessed, right? But exactly what kind of mischief, well that's your guess.

Irene Adler walked into the classroom a few minutes late, all heads turning to look at her; including Sherlock's. For the fist time since he saw her today, he focused on more than just her face, noting that today she wore emerald-green today. From the ballet flats to the tights that disappeared under the simple plaid dress. Her hair was different, in low pigtails with her curls wild and wrapped and entangled with the ends of green ribbons. It looked better than the pink. He searched for her hands and the corner of his mouth twitched when he spotted the red nail polish. He liked when she wore it. Liked that he shared so many secrets with her.

The teacher didn't even make a comment as she normally would, instead, continuing to write on the board as Irene took her seat next to Sherlock and rest her clasped hands in her lap; ankles crossing. Her back was straight chin tilted slightly up and shoulders pulled back. He looked back down and frowned as he saw that she had moved her legs so that her ankles were now to her left, still crossed. She certainly didn't look comfortable but she didn't seem to care. A quick recall in his mind showed a map of the classroom and all the students in it. Everyone was seated for comfort, looked comfortable except her. Why? Why didn't she care about being comfortable?

He barely paid attention in class, doing his work automatically and instead focusing on Irene out of the corner of her eye and trying to understand her movements and habits. She liked to twirl a curl when she was writing on the paper and sometimes tugged on it whenever it took her a little longer.

The pencil's movement was always languid and fluid, moving through the air with precision and grace. He noted by the way her pencil seemed to barely lift from the paper and the gliding movements, that she wrote in cursive much unlike the rest of his classmates. But that didn't surprise him. Irene was elegant, put together and in Sherlock's own personal opinion; better than all the rest.

Occasionally she would uncross her ankles and move her legs to the other side of the chair before recrossing them and smoothing the skirt of the dress before getting back to work. It was a fluid and smooth motion that he assumed wasn't just for show. She did this at home as well, wherever she was, and did it very often. According to the book he had borrowed from the library a few months ago, smoothing of skirts was an unconscious sign of insecurity. Though, what she would be insecure about puzzled him.

Everyone liked Irene Adler and her smile with her two missing teeth. With her always matching clothes and ability to both tease someone and make them feel special because Irene Adler was talking to them instead of someone else.

Sherlock knew how that felt. When Irene talked to him, when she gave him that smile and shared a secret, he felt such pride that someone so popular, so normal would bother with someone as odd as him. And she had even kissed him! Risked ridicule and taunting and entire classes and teachers turning on her and yet, she kissed him. He had no clue why, but she did. And it was _special_.

When recess came, he grabbed his magnifying glass and went to the end of the blacktop where the tar had broken off and the grass refused to grow so only dirt was there. It was the perfect place for him, as no one liked being there because of the bugs and worms that often wriggled around. The magnifying glass was brought especially for this place, to see the bugs and dirt up close and takes notes that he would try to draw conclusions from. He got down on his stomach, lying on the blacktop and brought the magnifying glass over a particularly large bug.

The creature was black, with red squiggles down his back and six legs. It was an insect and Sherlock closed his eyes, mentally flipping through 'The Big Book of Bugs' he had memorized last time at the library before he settled onto the page about Box-Elders. They had intrigued him at first but then he read about bees and became engrossed with the hive mindset. Box-Elders, to Sherlock now, were stupid and ugly. Still, it might do to watch how they walked, to watch how they acted under such close scrutiny.

Soon, he was so focused on watching the insect scurry across the dirt that he didn't hear the child walk up behind him until a hand wrapped around the magnifying glass and yanked it away, running off.

Sherlock froze in bewilderment, trying to understand just what had happened. No one ever came over here. Not just because of the bugs and worms, but because it was 'Freak Territory' and therefore deemed unsafe from the rest of the playground for the fear of catching whatever Sherlock had. But what confused Sherlock the most, was the hand that had stolen his magnifying glass, had the nails painted a familiar shade of red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/b1/d5/09/b1d50927c9088f81adb33243233eb03e.jpg (Irene's shoes)
> 
> http://www.welovecolors.com/assets/Colors/Big/Emerald.jpg (Irene's tights)
> 
> http://productshots1.modcloth.net/productshots/0160/1303/6a4597c54cdf3aa6232fd15261b702f1.jpg?1436305616 (Irene's dress)


	5. The Demon of Baskerville Elementary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is short but next chapter will be longer, oops!

Shock flooded through his body as he stared at his hand where the magnifying glass used to be. He should have expected something like that, should have known that someone like Irene Adler wouldn't really be interested in someone like him.

But he had gone and hoped against his knowledge that maybe, just maybe, Irene would be different, truly want to be his friend. And yet, yet he was proven wrong. She had made him trust her, had him let his guard down and even started to believe that maybe, maybe they could really be friends. And then she betrayed him.

Anger rushed to his head, forgetting everything except going after Irene and getting his magnifying glass back, making her pay.

 

It wasn't like it was just a toy, his mother had gotten it for him when he turned six as a special part of a detective kit. He had just stopped after Boxing Day, wearing his pirate costume almost every day and declared to his parents that he wanted to be a detective now. Of course, his parents were thrilled to hear the news and presented him with his very own, engraved, detective kit on his birthday a bit later. The magnifying glass was one of his favourite pieces, with his named written in gold script along the handle and rather powerful lens that was smudge-proof. And now, Irene had stolen it.

Well, she would get away with it. He was William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and Irene Adler was going to pay for betraying him.


	6. The Return Of Sherlock's Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this was the second part of the song that influenced the little kidlock!  
> 'Next day I chased her around the playground  
> Cross the monkey bars to the merry-go-round'  
> And then cute schtuff because I'm a sap.

Sherlock Holmes got up off his stomach and dusted off his white button-down before turn to look at the playground, looking for Irene. She was on top of the playset, near the slide and inspecting one of the metal poles with his magnifying glass. Her back was turned to him, he had the advantage.

  
So, he broke into a sprint. People moved out of his way, or the ones that didn't he used his boney elbows to move them for him. He ignored everyone, the sound of his thrumming heart in his ears and nothing else. Not the sound of his shoes on the pavement, not the indignant cries of those that he was pushing or the jeers of 'freak', 'psycho' or 'weirdo' that were shouted at him as he passed by. But Irene heard them, turning and seeing Sherlock, climbing up the stairs of the play structure and nearing her. Only a few platforms seperated the two of them and she grinned at him.

  
It wasn't the grin she had when she told him about Molly, that made him think her dangerous. No, it was a real, sincere grin that almost made it seem like she was happy he was chasing her. He almost grabbed the magnifying glass from her before she went down the closed slide and he jumped down after her, colliding into Irene who was holding herself against the plastic walls to keep herself from sliding down.

  
She giggled when he fell into her, moving slightly before winking at him. "Took you long enough, Sherlock. I thought I was going to have to chase you first. C'mon, let's have some fun!" She whispered, cheeks flushed pink before she let go and slid down, disappearing from his view. Sherlock scrambled after her, seeing her climbing up to the monkey bars and hoisting herself up until she was standing on top of the metal rungs.

  
Still he followed her, watching her to see that she wasn't at all shaking while she walked calmly across the rungs like she'd done it a hundred dozen times before. He shimmied up the pole before he too, walked across the rungs. His pace was far faster, nearly leaping from one to the next before jumping down and seeing Irene only a few feet before him, laughing and doubled-over. It was his chance, his chance to steal the magnifying glass while her eyes were closed and she distracted.

  
But he didn't. He didn't want to. As much as he was hurt that she had stolen it, he was having fun chasing her. The rush of adrenaline, the chase, it was all so exciting and something he'd never done before; rather preferring to stay with books and looking through microscopes.

  
Irene took notice of his momentary lapse and straightened up, sticking out the tip of her tongue through the gap of her missing teeth before running again, this time to the merry-go-round. Like a lap-dog, he followed after her, chasing her in a circle and again, again, again; until they were both dizzy and fell on the grass. Sherlock stared at the sky as he lay next to Irene, breathing deeply as he heard her giggle between her pants. His heart was beating fast but he could no longer tell if it was from the running or her.

  
It was only when the bell rang to signal the end of their time that they stood, Irene telling him if there were any wrinkles and he in return, informing her if anything was out of place. As she twirled, he noted a bow was out of place and rather than tell her, he reached out and straightened it for her before realizing exactly what he did and ran to get back into the school.

  
If he had looked back, he would have noticed that Irene Adler was still standing in the grass, blushing and touching her green bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://media.kohlsimg.com/is/image/kohls/1110265_White?wid=500&hei=500&op_sharpen=1 (Sherlocks's shirt)
> 
> http://www.stuartslondon.com/images/gibson-black-dress-trousers-gss01mt-p19425-67318_zoom.jpg (Sherlock's pants)
> 
> http://www.uksoccershop.com/images/29132.jpg (Sherlock's shoes)


	7. The Valley of Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm introducing Victor Trevor in here... I'm not a hundred percent sure on whether or not he's canon or fanon buuuuuuuuut he's in here. Whoo!

Lunch was a dull affair so he skipped it, not hungry and going to the library to see if they had gotten any new books about bees in. He spent the entire time reading about their digestive system before heading back to class and taking his seat, refusing to look at the girl sitting next to him.

  
Instead of paying attention to the teacher, he started to recite the dictionary in his head; backwards. It was only when papers were being passed and something dropped into his lap that he broke out of his daze. A carefully fold up swan was sitting on his thigh and looking up at him. It was made out of notebook paper and while the teacher's back was turned, he unfolded it as quietly as he could before reading it under his desk.

  
A frown appeared on his face as he saw nothing but random letters spaced out on the paper and two little boxs on the bottom with three letters next to one and two letters next to the other. He continued to stare at the paper before realizing that someone was standing next to him and looked up, seeing his teacher staring down at him.

  
Mrs. Turner's lips were pulled back into severe scowl as she stared down at him and held out her hand which Sherlock simply put the note in. He had memorized it already and no longer had any use for it. She stared at it for a few seconds before grumbling and tearing it up, throwing it in the waste basket on her way back to her desk.

  
The rest of the day went fine until English, when Sherlock had to go to his cubby and Victor Trevor stood in front of him, smirking.

  
"I know your secret..." He sneered, cockney accent quite thick.

  
"I'm sure I have no clue what you're talking about." Sherlock mused as he pushed him aside to get his book out.  
"You like Irene."

  
His grip on his book weakened and the book fell on his foot, pain slowly starting to spread. Sherlock ignored it in favour of looking at the man before him. "Now I'm certain I have no clue what you're talking about."

  
"You know she'll never want you, right? You're a freak and no one ever wants you. Your own parents probably donn't even want you. _Bet they wish you weren't even born._ "

  
Serlock, for all his perfect memory, didn't quite recall what happened next. All he knew was that Victor was on the ground with blood running down the sides of his face and Sherlock's hand was hurting rather bad. He spared it a glance and noticed that it was starting to bruise around his knuckles. Blood that was already starting to dry a bit was spattered on the cuff of his shirt and hand. He had punched Victor Trevor, it seemed but for all he tried, he couldn't remember it at all.

  
But apparently everyone else could, especially Mrs. Turner who sent him directly to the office to speak to the principal. Well, his parents weren't going to be happy tonight.


	8. Her Green Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wasn't the only one who got into a fight... But just who else would fight at the same time as him?

Sherlock sat outside the office, legs dangling off the bench as he waited for his mother to come pick him up. He was suspended for tomorrow for punching Victor, though he had good reason, and 'he was lucky it was only one day' instead of a week. But it didn't matter. Victor was in pain and he got what he deserved for saying what he said about him and his parents. No one talked about them that way.

  
School was almost over, only an hour left which gave him plenty of time to try and solve the coded message that Irene had given him. It was a Caesar Code, that much he could note, but without a key, he was unable to solve it. A key, what was the key? He was trying to think what it could be. Did A=Z? No, too obvious and Irene would never be so obvious about her secrets. The key would be something personal, something she knew only he would figure out and he alone. Just like her.

  
Her who was sitting down next to him with blood on her face and hand and swinging her little feet as she hummed a waltz before looking over at him. "Hi." Was all she chirped before looking at the wall in front of her.

  
'Does not compute.' ran through his brain as he tried to figure out what had happened. Who on earth would hit a girl, especially Irene Adler. Sherlock looked at her and noticed the blood was far fresher than the blood on his hand and clothes which were already dried and that it wasn't actually hers. There was no wound, no bruising. If he had to guess, it was like she painted it on. Did she paint it on?

  
"What happened?" It was not the first time Irene and her actions, her appearance confused him but he would ask her this time. He would ask instead of trying to deduce because every time he decided he would deduce her, he put it off to recall some part of her face, hair, clothes. No, he needed an answer and he needed it now.

  
"Anderson tried to cut one of my ponytails, when we were putting our books away, so I broke his nose. He tackled me, hence the blood on my face, it was quite a lot of blood dripping from him, and so I punched him in the jaw. It's probably dislocated, cause I heard something pop, but I'm not sure. But I caused a distraction so I was sent to talk to the principal. My dad threatened to sue the school because of Anderson harrassing me and trying to cut my hair, saying I acted in self-defence, so I got off easy. Only sent home early." She paused after her long explanation, finally turning to look at him. Irene wasn't smiling, eyes dull. "What happened to you?"

  
"I punched Trevor." He said dully, shrugging it off and trying to push away the sadness he felt at her empty gaze. Irene always smiled at him, always and he loved it. It was beautiful and it was the highlight of his day and now, now she wasn't smiling. He wondered if he would see it ever again. "Suspended for tomorrow."

  
"Does your hand hurt?"

  
Her voice was softer, Sherlock noted, and suddenly he had hope that she would smile again at him. "Not too bad, just some bruises."

  
"Lemme see it..." Irene reached out for it with her clean hand and held it out so her palm was up.

  
Without hesitation he let his injured hand fall on top of hers. There was purple and black mottled together on the knuckles, yellow streaks around the lighter hues. She was warm, soft under his calloused hand and almost two knuckles shorter than his hand. For some reason, he would never understand what brought it on, she brought his hands to her lips and kissed every knuckles with feathery-light touches.

  
"My mother always told me a kiss helps to heal." Irene explained, a little smile finally peaking through as she blushed as red as her nails. He liked her small smile almost much as her real one. The gap of the two missing front teeth peaked up and her dimples showed and she looked so innocent, so young.

  
It didn't matter that he knew for a fact that whatever her mother said about kisses helping healing what a complete lie, they made no difference, if Irene believed, he would agree.

  
"Thanks."

  
"Of course, Sherlock. I'd have you return the favour, but I refused to let the nurse clean me off. I'm proud of what I did to Anderson and I'm going to make sure everyone sees it."

  
She sounded so happy, so strong and convinced that he could understand how she could get the nurse to agree to letting her walk out with sticky red goop on her.

  
"Will your mother be happy though, about the blood?" If she got in trouble, well, he wouldn't see her again and he needed to see her. Everyone in this blasted building was stupid, boring except for her and he couldn't deal with that. She was helping keep him sane; he needed her.

  
"She'll be a little upset, yes, but... Once she hears about what I did, what Anderson did, she won't care. Mother always says that a woman needs to stick up for herself and that's what I did." A nod accompanied the end of her sentence and Sherlock took that as an end to the topic.

  
For the rest of the time, they sat there in silence. The only noise that happened was when Irene shifted a little from her perfect posture to curl up on the bench and let her head rest on Sherlock's lap. Perhaps he shouldn't have let her do that, coughed or maybe showed displeasure but it was comforting to find someone that was comfortable with him.

Someone that didn't care about what the others called him or if he was smart or didn't act like the others. Irene was that someone and so he let her lie there and every so often, stroked her hair.  
  



	9. The Case of the Tearful Brunette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cutesy-stuff.

As expected, his mother was not happy about Sherlock getting suspended or getting in a fight. What was unexpected was that a portly, short man showed up at the same time as his mother in a very nice suit and tie and dressed like he should be in some kind of spy movie. They were both coming towards Irene and Sherlock with grim looks on their face but froze when they saw Sherlock with a sleeping Irene on his lap.

His body froze, hand mid-stroke on her curls and he quickly straightened up, moving his hand to Irene's shoulder and gently, so gently, rocking it. "Irene... Wake up."

She mewed before her eyes fluttered open, the blood smeared on half her face and he knew his pants would have the rest of the blood on them but it didn't matter to him.

"I think your father's here." He whispered again.

That seemed to get her attention and she sat up so fast it was a blur. She quickly fixed her bows in her hair and smoothed the ribbons tangled in her curls before standing. "Jameson." Her voice shook, all traces of a smile gone and staring at him with something akin to fear.

Sherlock took note of the way her hands seemed to tremble every so slightly and he frowned. Did this man hurt Irene, was that why she was so scared?

But Wanda Holmes seem to have other ideas in her mind other than pummeling the man Irene called Jameson and pulled Sherlock into her side, looking at him and ruffling his curls. "Is she your girlfriend, Sherlock?"

"No..." He muttered, refusing to look back at Irene who was staring after him with tears in her eyes.


	10. How Sherlock Learned the Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the note that Irene wrote to Sherlock, I'm not going to tell you what it says: just know it's a Caesar Cipher and the key is I=A if you want to solve it.

Vg qgm dacw ew, vg qgm osffs tw eq xjawfv? Sfv ax qgm vg, owdd lzwf vgf'l tw, sxjsav lg lscw ew tq lzw zsfv. Ax qgm osfl lg. A lzafc lzak ak zgo dgnw ygwk, uzwuc qwk gj fg.


	11. Irene is Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last part of the Kidlock! part of the series but there will be more and later today, I will be adding pictures of the outfits they wear because: I just feel I should do that.

Sherlock spotted Irene as she got of the bus, wearing white. Her hair was in a French braid and ribbons. Today, it was white, a tight white dress with white button up shoes.

Ignoring everyone but her, he made his way over and saying nothing, he reached out and took her hand; holding it tightly.

  
He watched her break into a smile, squeezing his hand back and looking up at him with such joy on her face that he smiled back at her. Her dimples were showing and he could see the beginning of her two front teeth starting to poke through. She was beautiful.

  
He was hers and she was his.

  
And together, hand in hand, they walked into school together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/37/97/e9/3797e9f908d85f9464054deb5cdd4bd6.jpg (Irene's shoes)
> 
> http://ep.yimg.com/ay/yhst-83959269427248/laundry-girls-by-shelli-segal-white-lace-tween-girls-dress-top-seller-11.gif (Irene's dress)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have a Brit pre-reader so this is based more on the American school system with my little, little bit of knowledge of British school system... So... Bear with me.


End file.
